


Even The Stars, They Burn (On Hiatus)

by orphan_account



Series: Onsra [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Hobos, M/M, Multi, On Hiatus, Organized Crime, Sad Backstories, bilbo & fam are totally badass, but happy ending, doesnt this story sound fun, everyone gets shot a lot, much death notes, thorin is kind of a dick at first, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:50:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3535169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Arkenstone is a jewel carved from the most flawless diamond. It is the prize gem of Erebor Industries, coveted by millions, protected by the tightest security, and has the power to bring down an entire company and all those employed by it.</p><p>It was stolen at exactly 10:57pm on Saturday the ninth of September.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> sooooooo yeah  
> c:  
> badass sigrid is a NEED

**SATURDAY, THE NINTH OF SEPTEMBER**

* * *

 

 

 

**_22:10: Heating Vents, S.B._ **

A ringing, clanging echo bounded through the tiny steel space like a joyous imp, travelling a few metres down the square silver tunnel then dissipating. A pair of grey eyes fixated anxiously on the exact spot where it fizzled out. A tiny sigh slipped out from between the owners’ lips, her eyelids flickering as nothing untoward happened; her dark hair dropped for a second, hand tightening where it rested against the steel wall beside her.

‘ _What was that?’_

The tinny voice crackled through the tiny implement of black plastic curled around her ear, the worry in the tone visible even through the terrible connection. The girl’s face pinched slightly in a wince.

‘Never mind,’ she managed, her words straining out from between clenched teeth. ‘Just slipped a bit.’

Her father seemed to understand her strain and remained silent, though the girl could imagine how his nose would twitch and his hands would fist in his woollen sweater where he stood.

She felt a pang of sorrow as she remembered that he would not be standing, not any more.

The dark thought slipped from her mind as she caught a glimpse of the luminous face of her digital watch. She steeled herself and resumed her crawl through the cramped space, disregarding the persistent ache in her shoulders as she pushed on determinedly. A bead of sweat crawled leisurely down her forehead, darkening the curls already slick with perspiration.

‘Here goes nothing,’ she gritted, eyes fixed on the tunnel before her.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:13: East Wing, T.B. and O.B._ **

The redhead stalked through the spotless, air-conditioned halls, her breathing light, her guarded hazel eyes flickering around the walls, noting every speck and scratch. She seemed aligned to the small boy hovering behind her like a bodyguard with her charge.

The rustle of the boy’s map seemed indecently loud in the muffled silence of the corridor; the redhead shot him a quick glance before resuming her unceasing perusal.

Her slim fingers pressed to the transmitter in her ear as she cast an eye around a bend in the hall.

‘Position?’

She beckoned for the boy behind her with a sharp flick of her wrist and he hurried to catch up, the map clenched in one shaking hand. The woman seemed to notice the trembling of the map and offered him a reassuring smile as the reply buzzed in her ear.

‘ _Fifth corridor and left. You?_ ’

The redhead slipped around the corner, her hand at her ear once more, unhindered by the fiery locks pulled in a tight ponytail.

‘Seventh hall on the west face. You’ll need to get a move on.’

‘ _I know_ ,’ came the tense reply.

The woman gave one more sweep before her eyes lowered and her voice softened dramatically.

‘Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. We’ve been planning for months…’

A sigh crackled through the earpiece as she prowled down the corridor, only the tiny furrow between her delicate brows betraying her worry.

‘ _It feels wrong, Tauriel.’_

The woman’s temple jumped, her lithe walk stiffening almost imperceptibly.

‘There’s no other option.’

She took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes closing for a fraction of a second and mouth twisting before she continued, her voice so low it was almost inaudible.

‘And I won’t let that happen to Dad again.’

Loud silence on the other line as she led her charge down the silent halls, her face grim.

 

* * *

 

****

**_22:17: West Wing, L.B. and E.B._ **

A slender hand fell from a dark transmitter, pointed features settling into an unnerving stillness. A muscle twitched in a clenched jaw; blue eyes hardened as a mouth thinned.

‘Legolas?’

The glacial eyes flickered briefly to a guarded pair framed by wayward curls, then darted away, unable to meet them. They flickered over the opulent carpet, the dark wood walls; the scent of vanilla hung sweetly in the air and an aureate glow seeped from under the opulent doors.

The young man turned back to the front.

‘It’s nothing. Now, come.’

He paced swiftly down the corridor, shadowed by the younger woman, until he reached a door that had been left carelessly gaping. The strip of light from the doorjamb painted a golden stripe down his black clothes, and his eyes narrowed fractionally.

‘Here we are,’ he murmured, the blue of his iris set alight.

The other gave a short nod, turning to continue swiftly down the corridor. The blonde man watched her retreating back out of the corner of his eye before calling to her quietly.

‘Good luck, Éowyn.’

She paused, looking over her shoulder to study his face. The molten curls of her ponytail shifted on her back. After a heartbeat, a warm smile quirked up the corner of her mouth for the briefest moment; she darted forwards and disappeared around the corner.

The man faced the door once more, his eyes darkening back to concentration.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:19: The Penthouse, S.B._ **

The girl dropped noiselessly, landing on the balls of her feet like a cat. She froze in a crouch for a few thudding heartbeats, the only sound the rushing of blood through her ears; after mentally counting to ten, she straightened. Her grey eyes darted jumpily from place to place, her fingers tangling with her sweat-slicked curls and pushing them from her forehead.

‘I’m in the penthouse,’ she whispered, the sound swallowed by the immensity of the room. Plush sofas, thick carpets, embroidered curtains that covered the walls from floor-to-ceiling; she had never seen anything like it.

‘ _Alright_ ,’ her father replied, the crackling sound shattering her reverie. ‘ _Taur and Ori haven’t reached the control room yet, but there are no cameras in the lounge. Just stay in there until they switch it off…’_

The girl slid cautiously around a sturdy glass coffee table, hands clenching and unclenching by her side as her father’s instructions continued to grow more and more agitated.

_‘The owners should all be sedated, the guards too – hopefully it will work on them. If it doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do. Oh, what were we thinking, it isn’t worth it, it was never worth it–’_

‘It’s always worth it, Dad,’ the girl murmured, cutting him off effectively all the same. There was a pause, filled with the light hissing of interference.

_‘Okay, Sigrid. Be safe.’_

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:20: West Wing, L.B._ **

The security box was inconspicuous, its disguised opening flush to the wall; obscured by a painting and secured with a pinhole lock, those in charge of it felt confident in its safety – invulnerability, the Head of Security had even once called it.

He shouldn’t have been so sure.

The young blonde man flexed his slim fingers thoughtfully, their sensitive pads hovering just shy of the banks of blinking lights and switches. His gaze alighted calculatingly on each one, studying the miniscule lettering etched beneath.

A crackle from the transmitter broke his concentration and he jerked slightly, rocking back on his heels with a frown.

 _‘We have a problem_.’

‘What kind of problem?’ the man enquired, irritation at the interruption bleeding into his tone.

‘ _A laser problem_ ,’ came the blunt reply.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:23: East Wing, T.B. and O.B._ **

The thin red beams criss-crossed intricately through the hallway, glowing with a smug red light. The tangle of lasers was more for show than anything else; but the siren, and in extent auto detector, would be a hundred per cent functioning.

The red-haired woman studied the cluster of bloody strands, eyes darting so swiftly that they appeared to blur as she analysed their positioning. The smaller boy hovered behind her, brown eyes anxious.

‘ _…Lasers?’_

The woman drew in an apprehensive breath through her teeth, casting a quick look down behind at the spotless white halls.

‘A whole lot of them,’ she confirmed, hazel gaze drawn back to the gently pulsing beams like it was magnetized.

There was dead silence on the other side, in which she knew he was considering. She could almost hear the slight tapping of his finger and the swishing of his clothes as his hand drifted over the switches, his brow furrowing in frustration.

‘ _There aren’t any controls for lasers.’_

The woman let out her breath, setting her shoulders as she reached up to twist her hair into a knot.

‘Then I’ll just have to make do.’

She ignored the worried weight of her charge’s eyes upon her, stepping forwards as if ready to meet the lasers in battle.

‘Piece of cake,’ she murmured to herself, rubbing her slim palms together.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:24: West Wing Security Room, E.B._ **

The computers were the only illumination in the twilit room, blue light washing over rows of complex knobs, switches and blinking lights. The blonde woman’s slim fingers brushed the inclined boards like a pianist readying her instrument; she spared a quick glance at the immense monitor before frowning down at the panels once more.

She leaned over the panels, hunching in for a more convenient view. The hiss of the voice in her ear was expected; as such, she continued to study the boards even as she took in the information relayed to her.

_‘...blocking the way. The reckless idiot is going to try and go through…she’s switched off her receiver and Ori isn’t answering.’_

‘Are we going to pull out?’ the woman enquired absently, digits tapping a light pattern on a particularly large red button as she raked her eyes over the banks of controls.

‘ _Not yet. Dad wants us to, but he never really liked this idea in the first place. I haven’t asked Sig yet, so…what do you think?’_

For the first time the woman’s fingers stilled, her eyes raising to gaze at the blank monitor screen; yet it wasn’t a blue display that she saw.

‘It’s the only thing he’ll take.’

There was a mutual still in conversation as both wrapped themselves in the tattered blankets of memory, laced with strands of fear and suspicion.

‘ _Did he set us up to fail?’_

‘No,’ the woman murmured. She had considered the idea also, for a brief spell. ‘What would he have to gain? The company would be unaffected, the gem out of grasp.’

A soft sigh rattled through the speakers, surprising the woman; he must have kept his finger pressed against the transmitter the entire time, a sign of rare thoughtlessness.

‘ _You’re right,’_ he admitted. _‘As always.’_

The woman could hear the smile on his face colouring his words, and returned to the banks with one of her own.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:26: The Penthouse, S.B._ **

‘What do you mean, _lasers_?’

The girl paced anxiously, curly brown ponytail swinging as she navigated the opulent couches. A deep furrow slashed across her brow, her top lip lifted in an incredulous glare.

‘ _I can’t deactivate them, and Tauriel has already taken it upon herself to go through alone. There’s nothing we can do.’_

Her expression dropped into concern; catching her lip between her teeth, she worried it with the sharp points.

‘It’s worth the risk,’ she replied softly, memories of a rain-slicked alleyway wet with more than water making themselves known. ‘I’m not backing out, not now.’

_‘I know. Éowyn agrees. She’s close to disabling the alarms; once Ori shuts off the cameras, it’ll be all you.’_

‘No pressure,’ the girl murmured, eliciting a small laugh from the boy on the other end.

_‘We all have faith in you, Sigrid. You can do it.’_

‘Thank you. See you on the other side.’

She paused in her pacing, finger trailing absently down the arm of a sofa as screams from long ago echoed through the intervening years.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:27: The East Wing, T.B. and O.B._ **

A strand of fiery hair fluttered with momentum, dipping traitorously; the hair brushed dangerously close to a thrumming laser, kissing the red beam before floating back to join its brethren.

The woman curved her back to seemingly impossible proportions, pale stomach momentarily exposed as her black tank rode up. She twisted her back, closed eyes ignoring the laser nanometres away; she placed her palms on the smooth floor and levered herself over a particularly thick beam, contorting her leg to barely miss a slanting ray.

The map was once more shaking in the boy’s hand as he watched the redhead breathlessly, his mouth hanging open, leaning his entire body forwards unconsciously. The transmitter buzzed in his ear, ignored as an ant was to an elephant as he mentally willed the woman on.

She coiled her body into an impossibly tiny curl, laying a hand flat against the floor and digging in her fingers. Painstakingly she inched forwards, moving only by the strength of her index and pointer fingers, a beam thrumming threateningly over her. Gingerly she curled her legs out, drawing them past another laser, and moved to lie on her stomach. She shimmied backwards, wriggling until she was free of the oppressive beams.

She lay still on the cool floor for a few pounding heartbeats, before slowly levering herself to her feet. Looking through the tangle of thwarted lasers, she gave the boy a thumbs up and a grin.

‘ _I might stay here for a bit, if you don’t mind_ ,’ came his breathless voice.

She let an exhilarated laugh bubble to her lips, before turning and slipping through the heavy iron door set stoically in the wall.

Seconds later, the lasers blinked out.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:31: The West Wing, L.B._ **

A tiny switch flicked closed with a deceivingly loud _click_ , and one last blinking light winked out of existence.

The blonde raised his head slowly, accommodating the twinge in his neck as a victorious smile played around the corners of his lips.

 _‘We’re clean!’_ came a high voice through his ear piece, coloured with triumph.

‘Nice work, Ori,’ the man replied, managing to summon warmth through his haze of tiredness. His sky-blue gaze swept around the empty corridor as he allowed himself to slump against the wall.

‘Now all that’s left is the hardest part.’

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:32: The Penthouse, S.B._ **

A series of small _pops_ ran out, barely as loud as the ticks of a clock in the muffling silence. The girl shook out her knuckles, taking a steadying breath as she studied the eight-digit lock resolutely suckered to the chunky steel door.

‘ _Are you sure you can remember it, Sigrid?’_

Her father’s words shattered her concentration like a stone through a thin pane of glass, and she allowed her eyes to fall closed.

‘I’m sure… Dad, I’m turning off the transmitter now. I need to concentrate.’

Without further ado, she slid off the curl of plastic and stowed it in the waistband of her black leggings. Letting out her breath slowly, she flexed her fingers and contemplated the tiny silver squares until her eyes began to burn and sting.

‘Let’s see…’ she murmured to herself, eyes falling half-closed as she delved into her memory, calculations running through her head. ‘Eight…four…five…’

The lock let out reassuring bleeps as she typed in each digit, green light flashing with each depress.

‘Six…two…nine…’

Three more beeps buzzed in quick succession. The uncontrollable shaking of her fingers was beginning to still, the tense set to her face relaxing infinitesimally.

‘One…seven.’

Her finger hovered over the final number, the little perpendicular slashes; all vestige of confidence had deserted her with the arrival of doubt.

‘Or was it six?’

Her front tooth bit down into her lip until she tasted copper and iron. She jabbed her finger into the ‘seven’, bracing herself for the scream of the alarm, recoiling away instinctively.

The lock flashed green and unlocked with a _click_ , the handle snapping up invitingly.

The girl let out a long, low whistle and grasped the cold metal tightly, battling the sudden rush of exhaustion that assailed her.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:41: East Wing Camera Control, T.B. and O.B._ **

‘You sure you’re alright finishing up?’

The red-haired woman glanced up from the flashing computer screen, eyebrows raised. After a few dazed moments of uncomprehending staring, she shook herself slightly and smiled.

‘Fine. You go on, Ori.’

The boy bobbed his head in a nod, disappearing around the corner in a whirl of black trench coat. The woman had to pause in her work and press two slim fingers to her mouth in order to stifle her smile; he looked ridiculous in the massive trench, completely unsuited to the heavy material.

She shook away such light-hearted thoughts and focused once more on the numbers racing across the screen.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:43: West Wing, L.B._ **

The door of the electrics cabinet closed with a soft _snick_ , once more blending seamlessly with the darkly panelled wall. The blonde man replaced the oil painting with deft fingers, a small smile still playing about the corners of his mouth as the no doubt priceless masterpiece slid into place. Briefly his thoughts turned to his father, in the nondescript surveillance van on the night-darkened street outside; they flitted from the fire-haired woman, to the golden one, finally coming to rest upon the youngest in the building. His mind dwelt on the curly-haired girl, alone in the penthouse suite, on whose slender shoulders the entire group’s hopes rested.

He didn’t doubt her for a second.

His fingers stilled against the midnight-blue slashes of paint arcing across the canvas, his eyes turning the same shade as unwanted memories slipped through the door of his thoughts, unbidden, unwelcome.

He shook off his feeling of foreboding and slipped off down the corridor, eyes restlessly scanning around him.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:45: The Safe Room, S.B._ **

The room was muffled, warm, draped in a crepuscular silence; yet, it was impossibly vast. The echoes of the brunette girl’s silent steps shivered up to the domed ceiling, petering out and falling back to the marble floor. Natural moonlight shafted in through divided crystal windows, painting her back silver; but it paled in comparison with the single spotlight in the centre of the room, shining down with a soft radiance.

The girl continued to move towards the light like a moth to a flame; sparkling lights reflected in her irises, cast from the stone that was the very subject of the white beam.

The Arkenstone.

Sculpted from the most flawless diamond, painstakingly chiselled to elicit iridescent gleams from every angle, it lay nestled on a velveteen pillow. The spotlight sent constant radiating glitters across the oval stone; the fluorescent light cascading from the crown of the glass cube encasing it. The box was fastened with a fingerprint-controlled lock, the base and roof moulding seamlessly with a titanium pillar.

‘Beautiful,’ the girl breathed, laying a reverent hand upon the bulletproof glass.

Entranced, she watched as a wave of rainbow sparkles shimmered across the translucent surface, throwing every shade onto her awestruck features.

Her grey eyes dropped reluctantly away from the stone, falling to the tiny depress in the titanium, all that heralded the existence of the thumb-lock.

Worrying with the tip of her nail at the edge of silicon wrapping about her finger, she took another breath to clear her mind of the radiance of the Arkenstone. Fear of imprisonment shook off most of the lingering wonder; when she pressed her finger to the depress, it was once more shaking.

She watched breathlessly as a line of green ran across the cast sheathing her thumb, heart thundering in her chest like it was longing for escape.

The lock let out a musical beep, and the glass walls smoothly inched down. They slid into the titanium pillar, locking into place with an obedient _click_.

The girl stretched out her arm, hesitating when the tips of her fingers were just shy of the gleaming stone. She glanced around once with wary grey eyes, before scooping it up in one hurried motion. Recollections of a select number of experiences kept her head clear of the gem’s thrall; her fingers closed tightly around the smooth edges, their shocking cold seeping into her fingers.

Cradling the gem to her chest, she turned, her hands not quite still, her heartbeat not quite steady.

She froze instantly at the sight that greeted her, a sharp breath of surprise slipping out from between her lips.

 

* * *

 

 

**_22:58: The East Wing, O.B._ **

The small boy tripped hesitantly down the halls, casting periodic anxious looks at the huge windows lining the wall. Moonlight left white patches on the flawless floor, and a constant ticking echoed through the empty rooms. He shivered a little, gooseflesh erupting beneath his trench coat. It was too silent, too still; it seeped into his bones and weakened his knees.

A distant clang filtered through the intervening halls, conducted by the hush. The boy’s back stiffened and his shuffling steps began to pick up speed.

A flinch rocked his slim frame as another crash rang out.

 

* * *

 

 

**_23:01: West Wing, L.B._ **

The plush halls seemed smaller, constricting, the panelled walls too tight and the dark ceiling too low. Shadows flowed down like pitch, dripping off the ceiling and pooling around the blonde man’s features. His fingers were absolutely still, inches from his transmitter, face blank and chest motionless.

‘Éowyn,’ he whispered tightly. ‘Éowyn, come in.’

His jaw tightened as the only sound through the earpiece was a distant rushing, devoid of the woman’s reassuring tones. He fought down a sickening surge of worry as he allowed his eyes to move, the cerulean irises raking over his surroundings.

Telltale paddings of approaching footsteps filtered to his eardrum, and he whirled on the visitor, instantly shifting his centre of gravity; his limbs tensed as a slim black-clad figure slid around the corner. His eyes caught on the movement of her golden ponytail and he allowed his muscles to relax fractionally, straightening from his crouch.

‘Did you hear–’

‘The crashes? Yes. We’ve been found, we have to go.’

The woman darted forwards, cutting him off abruptly and grasping his wrist with slim fingers, tugging him down the corridor.

‘What about Sigrid?’

He noted the stiffening of the line of her shoulders, the way her digits tightened fractionally about his wrist; she didn’t stop her rapid steps, keeping her eyes forwards.

‘We’ll meet with Dad. My transmitter’s gone down; he can see what’s going on. The others will likely go there as well.’

The blonde quickened his pace as he analysed her argument; he drew by the other’s side, his eyes fixing determinedly before him.

 

* * *

 

 

**_23:03: East Wing Camera Control, T.B._ **

The circular blue light winked out of existence under the pale finger, the green screen above fading to black, scrolling numbers disappearing. No trace of tampering existed in the computer’s disk; the boy’s tampering had been a figurative ghost, invisible and untraceable.

The woman’s fiery ponytail swung back to rest against her shoulder as she straightened the curve of her back, pops ticking down the length of her spine. Her hazel gaze swept once more over the semicircle of dead screens, flickering from dark green to brown as shadows danced across her irises.

She flexed her fingers experimentally, sharp face pinching as the stiff joints cracked. She allowed a sigh to slip from her teeth as her eyes fell shut.

She’d never entertained the thought of stealing from a billion-dollar industry; but then again, technically she had only aided in the stealing, and she had done much worse for much more insignificant.

Her gaze dropped to her fingers, skin that should have been soft calloused with wear and still showing signs of old frostbite.

Even prison wouldn’t – _couldn’t_ – be worse than the place she’d once been.

 

* * *

 

**_23:04: The Safe Room, S.B. and F.D._ **

The Arkenstone glittered and shimmered, glow radiating through the fingers clenched around it as it glowed with its own odd inner light; it illuminated the features of the girl above it, outlining the shaken set to her face.

No breaths moved her chest as her dark eyes fixed on the man standing across the room. He stood in the pool of moonlight streaming through the window; his clothes were black, like hers, but bulkier, and they barely concealed broad shoulders and muscular arms.

Only instinct was keeping the priceless stone within the cage of the girl’s fingers. The silence seemed to weigh upon her ears, pressing in like a vice; she let out a ragged breath, the hammering of her heart turning her joints to water.

‘Put it back.’

The man’s tone was largely even, but the girl’s well-honed senses picked out the uncertainty seeping like water through cracks, the tense set to his shoulders, the whiteness of his knuckles as they clenched around the handle of his gun.

The black hole of the barrel glared at her like an eye, and she was just barely able to resist the temptation to look; keeping her gaze on the man’s, reminding him that she was living and breathing, she drew in a silent breath.

‘Are you going to shoot me?’

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the man flinched; the gun pointed away for barely a fraction of a second, and it was all the hesitancy she needed. Throwing herself across the marble floors with a powerful burst from her thigh muscles, her momentum sent her crashing toward the window.

The man’s cry was lost in the roaring in her ears. She barely had the seconds to shelter her head and curl in her body before her shoulder impacted with the thin surface. Time seemed to slow down; the man stood, gun forgotten, watching with frozen eyes as a delicate web of cracks spidered across the glass; the impact became too much for the thin substance and the obstruction yielded, sending the girl tumbling out into the open night.

 

* * *

 

 

**_23:05: The East Wing, O.B._ **

Minuscule, shifting, dull-coloured dots seemed to have replaced the usual clarity of vision; they almost seemed to hum, the oppressive sound making the boy’s fingers jitter and eyes dart. The unsettling feel of eyes upon him burned into his back, yet every time he turned the corridor behind was empty, white, shadowed.

He couldn’t resist the itching temptation; he was deeply regretting ever leaving the camera control room as his gaze jumped around the, as always, vacant hallway.

With the thrumming in his chest fractionally lessened, his head flicked back to the front jerkily. His heart, worryingly, seemed to stutter to a halt; or he would have been worried had the shadows not coalesced and darkened, forming a shape. A rather tall, muscular, imposing shape.

The boy barely held back a whimper as a pair of dark eyes glinted through the gloom, followed swiftly by an impossibly deep voice.

‘Halt, thief,’ the man-mountain rumbled, soft moonlight gleaming off his bald pate.

The boy’s throat jumped and feeling began to return to his numb fingers; his heart sputtered back to life like an elderly engine and he managed a few stumbling steps backwards.

The stocky figure echoed the movement like a figure in the mirror, stepping towards the boy as his shovel-like hand went to his belt, possibly for the gun sheathed at his waist.

At the thought, a wave of adrenaline set every nerve cell in the boy’s body on fire; it thrummed from his head down to his legs, and they were moving before he quite realised it. They propelled him forwards and he ducked swiftly under the man’s grasping hand, darting down the hall as his heart thrummed like a hummingbird’s wings.

The burly man’s brows contracted darkly as the boy scurried around the corner.

 

* * *

 

 

**_23:05: East Wing Camera Control, T.B._ **

A USB disconnected from a dock with a hard _snap_. Its cord coiled out like the tail of a black plastic snake, before it was caught between two fingers; the cable was guided around a slim wrist, wrapping around until it ran out.

A pair of hazel eyes fixed upon the cord with such burning intensity it would not be surprising to any viewer had the plastic begun to melt. The woman’s brows pinched even closer together as she leaned down to disconnect another cable; yet even in her state of distraction her sharp ears caught the slight scuffle from the doorway. Her head snapped up, eyes drawn to the man lounging against the doorframe.

Her limbs froze, icy numbness flowing in the place of blood; her hand stopped where it was reaching for another cord, her back half-curved as she leaned over the computer.

‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’

Her intense gaze became incredulous as a wide grin spread across the boy’s face.

‘Or shall I walk by again?’

Despite herself, the woman’s mouth dropped to hang open slightly.

 

* * *

 

 

**_23:05: Fifty Floors Up, S.B._ **

She seemed to hang, impossibly, in the air for one thundering beat of her heart, shards of glass suspended around her like her own personal galaxy. The illusion shattered swiftly, gravity enclosing her and viciously tugging her down, wind roaring around her ears as her eyes blurred and the breath was torn from her lungs. The building beside her was just a grey blur as it was torn away, the blackness of night turning vicious and stinging her exposed skin. Fingers of air, turned freezing by impact, ripped at her clothes as the unforgiving asphalt grew closer and closer.

A horrible tug around her waist wrenched her violently back up, a terrible sound cracking through the air as the breath exploded from the girl’s lungs. Coloured patches blossomed across her vision as she struggled to breathe, instinctively trying to curl in on herself.

After a few horrible seconds of struggling to breathe, the girl succeeded in blinking the coloured blots from her vision. She drew in a rasping breath through her lungs, hand going to the belt around her waist that saved her life. A black line arrowed into the darkness above her, disappearing into the smashed window.

She smacked her palm against her belt and the harness released, sending her tumbling to the ground. She lay inert, sprawled on the concrete, her eyes sliding closed; her fingers slowly curled, cheek pressed into the jagged stone.

‘Well,’ she managed to breathe, the words rasping into the still night air. ‘That was something.’

 

* * *

 

****

**_23:07: Surveillance Van, B.B._ **

The soft whirring of the computers pervaded the cool room; the boxy space was barely lit by a weak light set in a cluster on the ceiling, the blinking and flickering of tiny LEDs made all the more obvious by the twilight gloom. The grey swivel-chair squeaked as its occupant leaned back, running a hand through his honey curls.

A small moan tore itself from his throat and his head dropped into his hands, fingers digging into his temple. Regret, worry, and helplessness were tearing their burning ways up through his stomach; he dug the heel of his palm into his eye and released a shaky sigh.

‘Just let them come back,’ he whispered, voice strained. ‘Just let them be alright.’

He very nearly jumped out of the skin as the door swung open. He stared at the crack of black night visible, heart racing, fingers numb; he let out a shaky sigh as the brown-haired boy slipped through, pressing a trembling hand against his heart.

‘ _Ori_ ,’ he squeaked. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack!’

The boy cast him a guilty look, ducking under the light set in the wall and lingering by his chair.

‘Sorry, Dad.’

He darted his eyes over the hissing computer screen before the seated man, his brows furrowing as he took in the greyscale dots.

‘What happened?’

The man swivelled back to face the screen, drawing himself closer. He tapped a pensive finger on the interference, pursing his mouth.

‘I’m not entirely sure. It went like this about fifteen minutes ago–’

He cut himself off with a small gasp as the door cracked open again, tensing until his muscles ached; a figure stepped in gracefully, his cropped blonde hair shining under the fluorescent lighting.

‘What happened?’ he asked, a frown digging a trench between his icy blue eyes. ‘My transmitter went down.’

‘Legolas!’

The smaller man let slip an even louder relieved sigh, rubbing his fingers against his temples.

‘The cameras cut off, without any warning. I think we’ve been found out, we have to go–’

Another figure materialized behind the blonde, her golden ponytail swinging as she skidded to a stop. Her grey eyes flicked to the smaller man, colouring with worry as he moaned and leaned back into his chair, giving a little sigh of _‘Éowyn.’_

‘Did you take care of her?’ the blonde man murmured, his azure eyes intent on the woman.

‘Of course.’

The two shared an almost imperceptible nod, heads turning in tandem as the brunette boy piped up.

‘A security guard nearly got me, but I managed to get away.’

The woman offered him an approving smile.

‘We saw one or two, but they didn’t see us,’ the man said, slender fingers slipping down the banks of switches on the walls. ‘Aside for one.’

The curly-haired man drew in a quick breath, and the golden-haired girl moved to reassure him.

‘She won’t remember a thing, don’t worry.’

He cast her an anxious glance as a cool night breeze slid in through the again-open door. The fire-haired woman leapt in, delicate brows drawn tight as her arm clenched around the girl leaning on her.

‘Sigrid!’

The two smaller males let out a cry as the blonde woman raced to the redhead’s side, fingers darting to the brunette girl’s shoulder.

‘What happened? Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine,’ the girl gasped, her hand tightening around her waist. The redhead shot her an irritated look exactly as a searing pain lanced through her stomach, and she decided not to argue.

‘Sigrid decided to jump out of a fiftieth-floor window,’ the woman said acerbically, seating the girl on a swivel chair. Her face pinched beneath her brown curls as the small man gasped, and the boy’s dark eyes grew anxious.

‘I had a harness,’ she protested weakly, wince pronouncing as the redhead poked around her stomach area.

‘And you now have a broken rib.’

The girl’s grey eyes dropped, her face softening with contrition. She wound her fingers together in her lap and when next she spoke, her voice was much quieter.

‘A man found me in the Safe Room. That’s why I, um…jumped out the window.’

The other five’s faces darkened as they swapped concerned looks. There was a very pregnant pause as the brunette stared down at her intertwined fingers and rain began to tap quiet fingers on the roof of the van.

The boy burst out with a question, breaking the silence.

‘Did you get it?’

Her grey eyes flicked up slowly, staring at him through her brown fringe. A sigh slipped through her lips as her gaze dropped, her hand going to the pouch at her belt.

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I did.’

She tipped the pouch over, allowing the Arkenstone to drop into her palm.

 

 


	2. Two Weeks Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn was on the verge of becoming substantial, marking the advance of the impetus given to her.
> 
> Cries. Desperation. An alleyway slick with more than rain. Golden curls, platinum curls, what did it matter, they were both stained with lifeblood.

_One a.m.,_ he’d said.

 _One a.m., or we won’t let you off with just a warning_.

The moon was a silver coin in the pitch of the sky, consumed by the viscous darkness until only a sliver remained. Ethereal clouds hung before it in a misty screen, diluting its light until the sprawling city below was left in a greyscale twilight.

Eyes so pale they were almost completely leached of any cloud, small and shrewd, bored into her. She could almost physically feel their burn, reaching through the interfering hours to latch onto her thoughts even now.

She performed her periodical sweep of the area, somehow managing not to be robotic despite the hours she’d waited. Dawn was approaching, creeping up the horizon like a cracked egg; yet the city was loud as ever, cars steaming down the intricately tangled roads, pedestrians lingering beneath the pools of garish orange light while streetlights hunched over them like silver metal vultures.

Sigrid Baggins rubbed her numb fingers against the rough material of her coat, brown curls corkscrewing down before darting grey eyes. Her pointed nose was tinged red, courtesy of the stinging breeze, the ever-present bags beneath her eyes all the more visible as her face pinched in an absent frown.

She pause in her perusal to briefly study the sky, sensitive pads of her fingers pressing against the discreet bulge in her pocket.

Sigrid lingered at an intersection, double-edged street sign two emerald arrows stabbing down the deserted streets on either side. One, an alleyway composed of stained brick and graffiti, was labelled as MORIA STREET; the other, edged by boarded-up stored and rickety wooden houses, was dimly displayed as DOL GULDUR ROAD. A breeze hissed down the street, throwing up leaves in a fit of anger to flicker in the still twilight of early morning.

A tinkling crash sounded abruptly, echoes shattering down the streets, conducted by the hush. Sigrid's head darted like a dog on the hunt, fists clenching inside her sleeve. The tension held for a few tense heartbeats;

one…two…three…

then Sigrid turned away, balled-up fingers not quite able to disguise their shake.

 _One a.m._ , she’d told her family. They’d exchanged tight glances, resolve kindling in their eyes even as they processed the information; Sigrid had seen that resolve, read it like a book, and readied her lie.

_‘It has to be me.’_

She’d ripped the purposeful silence like it was a wet tissue, watching as the gazes fell upon her.

Too young, those eyes had protested. Too scared. She’s seen enough.

 _‘Bolg insisted_ ,’ she’d continued. Lies. All lies. ‘ _Me or nothing_.’

Fear for her family had strengthened her well-worn talent and they’d believed her. She'd nearly caved when she saw the look on her father's face, but one glimpse of Legolas, and Tauriel, and Éowyn and Ori, was enough to shore up her weakness.

 _‘It has to be me_ ,’ she’d whispered, and even she had been surprised at the vulnerability in her own tone.

That, perhaps more than anything else, had solidified their wavering, and they had conceded with reassuring clenches to her hand and light brushes to her shoulder as they left the room.

Sigrid ran her tongue along the back of her teeth, tasting copper and dirt. The first two hours of waiting had been the worst; nervous pacing, thunderous heartbeat, continual checking of her faded watch face. Now, almost five hours later, she merely watched, patience born of a thousand hours curled on a cold street making itself known.

Her father had stayed later than the other, persisted longer. He knew that all of this was for him, of course, and he hated it. He despised it with a passion rarely – if ever – seen. Especially when faced with allowing Sigrid, his youngest-yet-oldest child to go alone into the night. It didn’t matter in either of their minds that he was not technically her father. She was his child and no DNA test on the face of this planet could persuade them otherwise.

Sigrid had been through many surrogate parents. Bilbo was the only one still with her, so she protected him with all of the ferocity of desperation.

Another sound assailed her eardrums, this one a clang of metal on metal; it seemed to emanate from a wall-set door across the street from Sigrid, to which she spared a narrowed-eyed look. The line of her shoulders were a little tighter, the furrow of her brows a little deeper.

Along with worry and stress and tension, vestiges of wistfulness crept through her bloodstream. It clung on resolutely from the last night’s dream.

**_Flakes of glass, cloth, ice, twirling down from the sky in torrential flares, sinking into her skin and numbing her fingers. Pale hair half-hidden by snow, stained scarlet and fading to grey even as she watched._ **

A bang cracked through the silence. Her jaw clenched until her temples throbbed, sharp steel gaze fixed upon the peeling door. She dragged in a swift breath, studying the lightening sky.

**_White ice melting, reforming into blue fire, licking to the ashen skies and blistering her skin. Cries, full of the sort of pain worse than any heartbreak, piercing her ears and shattering the floor._ **

**_She falls through the soft greyness until she is no longer falling, and her eyes can once more discern anything._ **

Dawn was on the verge of becoming substantial, marking the advance of the impetus given to her.

Cries. Desperation. An alleyway slick with more than rain. Golden curls, platinum curls, what did it matter, they were both stained with lifeblood.

**_Darkness._ **

**_Pouring like pitch from the ceiling, oozing from the walls, bubbling from the carpet. Swallowing her feet, her ankles, grasping them and holding them tight. The air is heavy, cloying, sucking out her breath like a vacuum; it’s not dark, not light, not grey. It’s nothing._ **

Sigrid diverted her thoughts with the most miniscule hiss of pain, the first hairsbreadth crack in her professional façade. Her fertile imagination and near-eidetic memory could be a definite downfall.

**_Colour blossoms from the nothingness, solidifying and coalescing into a single shape; a black arrow, speeding towards her heart. A flash of white, in the corner of eye and the arrow disappears; the sky cracks and golden light cascades down her shoulders, banishing the darkness entirely._ **

A shuffle from behind, to her right – her _five o’clock,_ Falkόn would have insisted – caught her attention like a wandering finger against a taught bowstring. The brick alleyway blossomed into her field of vision as her eyes darted. A dark shape was visible among a shroud of shadows, advancing with a lithe prowl.

**_The comforting warmth cools until it dies, leaving her with complete emptiness. The shadows creep back in, and this time they are red, red as blood_ **

Sigrid’s limbs tensed, fingers brushing once more against her precious cargo as she fully turned to face the approaching figure. She could almost see the gaze burning through the darkness, weakening her legs and dampening the fire of her courage…

**_and a figure is striding through the crimson mist that envelops her, mismatched eyes blazing through, turning her legs weak and her hands uncontrollably shaky –_ **

Something clamped forcefully over her mouth, calloused and rough against the sensitive skin. Her eyes snapped wide, adrenaline electrifying her senses as the hand – or so she guessed – jerked her back, away from the corner. Her mind thrummed, fluttering with agitated wings over the unbreakable hold, the meeting that she _had_ to attend, the second arm pinning her arms, the empty streets – no one would see her – no one would know where she was –

Her wildly daring eyes caught a view in the alleyway as she madly writhed against the bruising grip.

_Who is it? Who would dare?_

The figure in Moria was picking up speed, racing towards her. Sigrid’s view of them disappeared as she was jerked again, noises of frustration deep against her ear as she bucked against the hold. She had to give it away, had to ensure their safety.

Her mind was clouded by adrenaline, hewn down to the most basic of survival instinct. She violently jabbed the point of her elbow behind her. A rough curse rewarded her efforts; she spun away as the grip loosened, shoes sliding against the slick concrete.

_Get away. Get away. Give it to him. Ensure their safety. GET. AWAY._

Sigrid darted forwards, keeping her centre of gravity low as she sprinted towards the corner. Her breath huffed out in desperate gasps, dragged through her burning lungs and clouding before her. The sound of her pursuer’s ragged pants fuelled her desperation until the only sensation was the flight of her feet against the concrete, the only smell the scent of blood and rust, the only thought of escape. Her heart shuddered desperately in her chest.

Sigrid skidded ungracefully as she tried to round the corner onto Moria. A sharp tug to her sleeve sent a jolt through her stomach as she snapped backwards. The cry tearing itself from her mouth was cut off by the calloused hand, panic drumming its fists against her skull as she was jerked into the man’s hold once again. A sharp sting lanced from her shoulder. She could feel the sedative running through her pressurised veins, every nerve drop away as her fingers numbed, every synapse short-circuit as her legs buckled. Her vision smeared like a finger dragged across wet paint. The last sensation before she slipped under was the failure deadening her limbs and darkening the world.

 

The Arkenstone was cold inside her pocket as she dipped into oblivion.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a really short chapter.  
> But i posted it earlier anyway ;)
> 
> Posting will be kinda random! Just to let you know.


	3. Questions And Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘I thank you for visiting us today,’ Thorin began, a distinctly mocking undertone dancing beneath his words. Fíli’s deepened frown mimicked those of the family.
> 
> He had never seen his uncle like this before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy fun times :D

‘Why did you take it?’

Ice blue eyes darkened with anger and seething with frustration filled Sigrid’s vision. She lifted her chin and said nothing, hands twisting futilely behind her back. Cold iron bit into her wrists and ankles, freezing steel of the chair leeching the warmth from her skin.

The eyes narrowed as the silence stretched. Fists clenched and a back straightened, until the man across her table regarded her with a regal sort of disdain. The powerful halogen lighting flowed down his shorn hair, pooling at the sharp cut of his dark suit.

Thorin Durinson felt irritation simmering up his throat, twitching down his arms and tickling his fingers as the girl’s expression remained stony. She was slight,dirty, and couldn’t be over twenty, yet the way she held herself sent warning bells jangling through Thorin’s mind. The black arrow pendant around her neck niggled at the back of his head, somehow familiar, but he turned his mind away. He wasn’t going to crack her any time soon, unless he applied more…unconventional…methods.

‘I suppose you needed it?’ Thorin all but purred, brushing his fingers along the surface of the interrogation table.

The only sign of the girl’s surprise at his changed tone was a miniscule tightening of the skin around her steel-grey eyes. They stayed unwavering before her as Thorin sauntered past her, watching her unflinching visage in the mirror stretching across the grey wall. He could feel Dwalin’s hard stare on him; usually the Head of Security would not be so vicious, but after losing some skinny boy and being elbowed right in the sweet spot, his mood was a little sore.

‘What for?’ Thorin continued, voice soft as a tiger’s purr. ‘The money? The fame?’

From where he paced behind her, he saw the fractional tightening of her jaw and felt a vicious pleasure. The stone was his. His family’s. His grandfather’s legacy.

‘Or something…else?’

Thorin had always had an odd talent for sensing what could rile up a person, worm beneath their skin and set aflame their spark of irritation. This time seemed no exception. His sharp eyes noted every jumping muscle, every clench of her fists.

‘But you see, we need it more. It is our figurehead; the symbol of our company, the very embodiment of our pride. No other reason could possibly be more important.’

‘Shut up!’

Thorin raised a cool eyebrow as he came once more to face her. This time, the steely eyes were averted, dark above a tight jaw and a twisted mouth.

‘What was that?’

This time as the silence stretched, triumph filled him in the absence of frustration. The ghost of a smile twitched up his mouth as he watched her fingers flex where they were restrained behind her back. It was evident that she couldn’t wait to get them around his neck.

He leaned forwards, hand pressing against the cool tabletop as he gave a mirthless smile.

‘Have you got something to say?’

Due to his proximity, he caught the sharp breath escaping from between her clenched teeth and the way her narrowed eyes snapped to him beneath her wayward fringe. He’d seen that particular look, laced with anger and a liberal amount of poison, more times than he would care to count.

‘You think that your needs are dire,’ she hissed bitterly, grey irises locking onto blue. ‘You know nothing of the world.’

Thorin held the fierce gaze for a long moment, seeking to discern what gave her words such heat. He had always been accomplished at reading people; his grandfather, to his parents’ chagrin, had taught him many dubious skills. He could remember the lessons like they were yesterday – _read the eyes, Thorin, always the eyes_.

Anger, simmering and dangerous, was obvious. Hints of derision and frustration, as well; but past that, there was nothing. This girl was not just some courier for those who had taken the stone. No, Thorin would not be surprised had she been involved directly.

Fíli had mentioned a girl. But she had jumped from a fiftieth-floor window. She would at least have broken ribs, even if they were fractionally healed two weeks later.

Thorin had never exactly been particularly sadistic. He didn’t relish the thought of intentionally hurting a young girl, even if she had broken into his company.

The Arkenstone, glimmering and resplendent, shimmered into his mind’s eye. His grandfather, an oddly brittle smile adorning his wrinkled face as his shining eyes drank in the stone. The cool feel of the gem beneath the pads of his fingers. A tingle ran down his fingers and they clenched, almost of their own accord. He saw, as if through a gold mist, the girl’s keen eyes darting to the movement before meeting his. This time the emotion was clear in her expression, unhidden. She knew.

The mirror bounced in its frames, image shuddering as the echoes trembled through the room. The mist was knocked from Thorin’s head as abruptly as it had sprung, and he turned to the door with a gaze once more sharp as a razor.

‘What is it?’

His growl was more to himself than anything, beneath his breath as he strode to the door.

Sigrid watched the man stalk away, a ghost tingle aching through her ribs as the memory of his tight fists flashed through her mind. She had seen his eyes unfocus, straying almost to insanity as anger scorched through his iris. She was lucky for the interruption, but was not as naïve as to hope for good news.

Confirmation was expected, yet debilitating, as she watched the man’s back straighten. His head turned and he paced back to her with a distinctly predatory air, victorious smile darkening his eyes to ink.

‘Sigrid Baggins,’ he said slowly, eyes ready for a sign of defeat. The sight angered Sigrid and she tilted her chin haughtily, silently daring him to pass judgement.

One of his dark eyebrows jumped up and his smile widened into a smirk.

‘So, are you going to…inform me of your motives?’

His sardonic laugh was barely louder than a whisper as she remained silent.

‘I thought not. Well, you may like to consider the fact that we know the location of your family. We could send someone right now to go and pick them up. They would like a trip, would they not?’

Thorin watched with amusement and no small amount of vicious pleasure as the girl’s eye twitched, the expression on her face one much too full of hate for one so young. She was about to snap. He could see it in the tightness of her shoulders, the curl of her lip. He wondered with a detached interest what she would say.

‘They wouldn’t get much chance for one, living in the Shire.’

And that was the final push.

‘You think you need it?’ she shouted, leaning forwards as her face twisted. ‘You think you know pain? Hardship? Hunger? What do you need it for, you selfish, conceited bastard? Your own inflated ego? Your overfull bank accounts?’

She was breathing heavily as she glared at him, furious eyes burning a hole in his head. Under her sharp panting was a spine-chilling grating noise as her ribs rose and fell; Thorin knew, not that he needed more confirmation, that she was the thief. His sympathy was all but non-existent.

A spiteful laugh bubbled to her lips and she shook her head, wayward curls swinging.

‘You’re disgusting,’ she stated, lopsided smile exposing a glimmer of bared teeth. He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

‘That may be true,’ he agreed. He turned his back on the girl, striding towards the mirror. ‘Dwalin. Send a car to 33 Hobbiton Road. Pick up everyone in apartment 13 and take them to the living room.’

His lips quirked up as his eyes found those if the girl’s in the one-way glass.

‘We’re going to have a little chat.’

Thorin slipped out of the room with a parting smirk, clapping his nephew upon the shoulder before joining his Head of Security. Fíli Durin stood stock-still as the door swung closed behind them, watching the girl slump in her metal chair.

 

* * *

 

Anger drummed through her head, fierce and consuming. Only her regret, her shame and fault, kept her from attacking the man lounging at her side. Only the stiffness to her spine and the jumping of her jaw betrayed her inner conflict. Her hands folded deceptively calmly in her lap, but a closer inspection would reveal the whiteness at her knuckles and the short nails digging into her own skin.

Sigrid knew that she was showing weakness. Disgust at herself tainted the tip of her tongue, souring her mouth. Failure was a bitter taste indeed.

She'd already committed the room to memory but studied it anyway. It was, admittedly, beautiful; all arched ceilings and red carpet and huge windows. She could catch a tantalising glimpse of the china-blue sky through the glass panels, but the outside felt miles away in the huge room that somehow managed to feel stifling. For all of its opulence and grandeur she thought the simple rooms of her family’s apartment a hundred times lovelier.

Her attention snapped to the double doors as they burst open. Before her mind could entirely catch up with her body she was on her feet and darting across the shag carpet. Thoughts of her captor, and his watching nephews, were driven from her mind as a familiar flash of golden hair caught her eye.

Sigrid fitted into the waiting arms like they were made for her. Strong arms wrapped around her and she pressed her face into the denim-clad shoulder, warmth folding around her in a soft blanket as her sister’s scent of vanilla and cherry blossom smoothed the crumpled line of her brow.

‘Sigrid.’

Her fingers clenched in the fabric at Éowyn’s shoulder as she allowed a shuddering breath to escape from her lips, feeling for once her age. She could feel the slight tremor to Éowyn’s body as well; it hit something deep within her – she had never seen her eldest sister scared before, not like this.

Belatedly Sigrid’s eyes flicked open, briefly sweeping the door before being snagged by an anxious brown pair. The curve of her mouth would have gone unnoticed by Ori, but hopefully he would have at least discerned the warming of her expression. Gently disentangling herself from Éowyn’s hold, Sigrid focused her attention on her eldest brother. Her question was silent but she knew without a doubt that Legolas would see it.

Sigrid’s hopes were met when he gave a tight nod, but her disappointment swiftly eclipsed any relief.  Her gaze became tired as it met as it met a hazel pair, guarded above a tight mouth. Meaningful glances were exchanged, a wordless greeting, before Sigrid met the figure in the wheelchair Tauriel pushed. Her fingers were enclosed by a softer set and her father broke into a smile like the sun bursting over the hills.

‘You’re alright,’ he whispered, his grip tight on her hand. Sigrid dipped her head and felt her own mouth bend in return.

‘What did they want from you?’

Ori’s murmur was barely audible, even to Sigrid, but the way his eyes darted to the Durins caught their attention nonetheless. She stepped closer him, aligning herself to counter any prying.

‘They want to know why, most of all,’ she explained under her breath. ‘They don’t know yet.’

Legolas’s eye caught hers and he offered her a brief smile of approval.

‘Fíli Durin recognised me, I think. They know where we live, and I suspect they know we did it. Otherwise, nothing.’

Thorin’s mouth tightened fractionally as he eyed their tight circle. Not a word was audible, and their mouths barely moved. They irksomely well-trained; if he didn’t already have a hold over them he would likely have to have given it up as a lost cause.

Fíli and Kíli slouched behind the sofa where he sat. To be more precise, Kíli slouched; Thorin would have paid more heed to the almost eager smile playing about Kíli’s mouth had his attention not been absorbed by his elder sister-son. Fíli’s back was ramrod-straight, Durin-blue eyes averted, the furrow between his brows pronounced. There was clearly something on his mind.

Resolving to question him on it later, Thorin rose to his feet and sauntered towards the small huddle. The grey-eyed girl, Sigrid Baggins, caught the movement instantly. He just barely heard the warning hissed from between her clenched teeth. A sardonic smile requested to curl his mouth, and he allowed it, stopping a metre or two shy of the group and clasping his hands behind his back. The movement was familiar, ingrained from hours of tutelage from his grandfather.

‘I thank you for visiting us today,’ Thorin began, a distinctly mocking undertone dancing beneath his words. Fíli’s deepened frown mimicked those of the family.

He had never seen his uncle like this before.

‘I assume that you already know why you are here?’

‘Yes, we do,’ Sigrid answered bitterly. ‘Now let us go. You can’t keep us forever.’

‘Can’t I?’ Thorin asked, dark eyebrows lifting. Fíli felt a tingle of apprehension and tasted blood in his mouth. He barely acknowledged the pain, mind too busy with half-recalled memories of a wizened face and greedy eyes.

‘I thought so,’ Thorin said as they remained silent. He paused for effect, meeting every thief’s eye before speaking; he wanted to truly drive this home, impress upon them the folly of stealing from the Durins.

‘What do you think would be the sentence for breaking and entering?’ he began, the family’s attention following his slow pacing with hawklike scrutiny. ‘Unauthorised entering of company premises? Thievery of a priceless heirloom? I would say roughly ten years, perhaps fifteen if we truly kick up a fuss.’

Pointedly, Thorin’s eyes met those of the youngest boy. He assessed him for a moment as his siblings’ faces became tight.

‘How old are you, twenty-five? You will be forty by the time they release you. The prime of your life, gone like that.’

A sharp crack split the dead silence as Thorin snapped his fingers. The boy flinched.

‘Tell me why you did it,’ Thorin said, savouring his power, ‘and I _may_ consider dropping charges.’

Sigrid’s hold clenched on Ori’s shoulder. Bilbo’s swift intake of breath only fuelled her disgust. She had met people like Durin before, skilled manipulators; she’d had such techniques used on, and even taught to, her.

_‘Give the target false hope. Get the information. Tear the hope away from them as you laugh and walk away.’_

_‘But that’s lying.’_

_‘There’s no place for honesty in this world, Sauer. If you want to survive you’re gonna have to learn to lie.’_

Falkόn had called her Sauer, after the gun. She’d said that it was a true survivor’s name.

Durin raised an eyebrow as he waited for a response. The sight sent another clap of anger arcing through Sigrid’s body and she barely bit back a snarl.

‘Don’t tell him anything.’

She didn’t have to check her father's face to see the frown furrowing it. Even Éowyn’s glance was unsure, teetering between two steep drops; but Legolas’s eyes were just as hard as her own. She met them and an understanding passed.

Perhaps seeing this, Bilbo spoke up.

‘Just tell them. _Please_. It isn’t worth going to prison for.’

A low hiss of frustration escaped from Sigrid’s teeth. Only Tauriel’s warning hand on her shoulder held back the rebuke on her tongue.

‘If we tell you, will you give us the stone?’ Ori burst out, drawing all three Durins’ attention to him. Sigrid felt her face pinch in a wince. He had just given away their main motive, for _god's_ sake.

‘So it’s the stone you want.’

Durin’s words echoed her thoughts. He now knew that their motive wasn’t the money or the fame, but the stone.

‘No,’ Thorin said, every syllable charged with vicious pleasure. ‘You are _never_ getting the stone. It is ours, and ours alone.’

Incredulity beat a pounding tempo in Fíli’s head, mingled with disgust. This was not the uncle he knew; wasn’t even the same man. He watched as Sigrid turned away, loathing and loss in her steel gaze mirroring Fíli’s own.  He didn’t know her – not past her name – and he certainly couldn’t begin to comprehend her past; but for that split second he felt that he understood her.

Dark grey eyes met light blue for the first time. Fíli saw only despondency and tired resignation, her ire drained as swiftly as it had appeared. As they stared at each other he saw no anger in his direction and it confused him.

Her gaze darted away as the red-haired woman spoke.

‘Tell him,’ Tauriel said, exhaustion as palpable in her tone as was the failure in every sharp angle of her face. ‘Just tell him.’

The muscles in Legolas’s jaw contracted but he obeyed, turning to the Durins with a harsh gaze. Sigrid was perhaps not as angry as she would have been. She was too busy wondering at the story she had seen in Fíli Durin’s eyes.

‘We were approached,’ Legolas began, even tone somehow still managing to be bitter, ‘by Azog Dagalur. I presume the name is familiar.’

He sighed out a long breath and continued, oblivious to the stricken look on the Durins’ faces.

‘He gave us a certain…ultimatum…and made it abundantly clear what would happen should we fail.’

It all made sense to Thorin. Of course Dagalur would still be after the jewel, damned fool that he was. Thirty-two years and the man couldn’t accept that the Arkenstone belonged to the line of Durin. The only question was, why this family in particular? And what was the incentive the boy spoke of? Thorin hadn’t missed the way that all of the family’s eyes simultaneously flickered to the wheelchair-bound man before snapping back to fix on him.

‘He gave us the equipment and a deadline, and we fulfilled it. Sigrid was going to deliver the stone, but was evidently apprehended.’

The blonde’s hard voice had dipped into flatness, almost derision, but Fíli found that he couldn’t really blame him. His uncle’s features gained an almost calculating set; Fíli didn’t have to dig up memories of the greed in his great-grandfather’s face any more. He was seeing it right before him.

‘So you say,’ Thorin mused slowly. ‘If that is so, what hold did Dagalur have over you? Why–’

‘Uncle! That’s enough.’

Eight pairs of eyes, filled with varying degrees of surprise, turned on him. Fíli almost regretted his intervention when he caught Kíli’s scared glance from the corner of his vision, but the madness still clouding his uncle’s face was enough to hold his resolve.

‘They told you why,’ Fíli insisted. ‘Now let them go.’

Thorin’s glare burned in to him for a drawn-out moment. Fíli met it evenly, willing his uncle to see sense. After a while Thorin turned away, but not before his nephew saw the flash of confusion in his eye.

‘Very well. We will escort you back to your house – apartment – for security. Afterwards I trust that we will not see you again.’

Fíli watched as Thorin exchanged a glance with the curly-haired father. The smaller man gave a tight nod in return to the eldest Durin’s own; small and homely-looking as he was, Fíli discerned the hard set to his shoulders and imagined that he was just as strong as any of his children.

Sigrid spared the suited man a suspicious look before leaving the room with Éowyn. She didn’t, and never would, trust Thorin Durin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment any feedback, comments or tips on how to make this better. Or if something confused you. Or just anything at all, really! I would love to hear from you :)
> 
> p.s. Thorin is kind of a dick at first but i promise that he shall be reformed ;p


	4. Time's Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a twist of her fingers she crushed the square of paper. The night wind burned her eyes as she stared unseeingly into the darkness.
> 
> Her time was up.
> 
> They were coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay wow I am SOOOOOOOOOOO sorry how long this took me! Life kept getting in the way. Like, goddamit life, I have more important things to do! Like write fanfics!  
> I am actually not dead. Hopefully posting will be more regular now. 
> 
> Again, I'm so sorry.

The sides of the arrow pendant were jagged beneath Sigrid’s fingers as she worried at it. The metal was warmed by her body heat yet it still felt cold to her, infused with memories of parents she had never known. The pendant was in the shape of an arrowhead, triangular and rough, formed from a glossy black stone; its shape was more familiar than the back of her hand. She stared up at the ashy sky, absently running her fingers over the pendant, as the sound of conversation drifted on the still air. The sun was high in the sky, yet its light was cold and barely leeched past the thick cloud covering. Quiet lay over the city in an uncharacteristic blanket, muffling the creeping cars and muting the concrete buildings until they became grey; her sister’s hair in front of her was a flame among the ash, conspicuous and attention-drawing.

Sigrid watched her sister talk and laugh with the brown-haired Durin – Kíli – and wondered how on earth she could be so relaxed. Legolas and Éowyn, walking together in front of them, certainly weren’t, and Ori was about as far from calm as he could go; Bilbo too seemed edgy where Ori wheeled him. Then again, he was always filled with a nervous energy. Durin and his Head of Security were threatening presences at the tail, stalking slowly and casting threatening glances whenever anyone dared look back.

‘I’m sorry about my uncle.’

With a jerk of her head Sigrid met the eyes of Fíli Durin. He must have come up beside her without her noticing – her defences were low, indeed. His blue eyes were clear and open, golden ponytail neat above a denim jacket. She could just barely see the black tip of a curling tattoo peeking up past his shirt collar.

She rubbed the back of her hand along her nose as she tried to figure out what to say, concealing her surprise from the boy. Sigrid eventually settled on forgiveness.

‘It’s alright. We did steal from him, after all.’

Fíli tried not to let his surprise show at her blasé dismissal, glancing down at the footpath briefly. She must be even more used to this sort of life than he had originally thought. It hit home then how sheltered his life had been, how little he truly knew of the world.

‘What’s that?’ he asked, glancing at the little pendant in her fingers. She gave another shrug and dropped it down her black jacket, but not before he saw the tightening of her jaw and the triangular shape of the necklace.

‘Just an old thing,’ she replied would-be-casually. He just barely caught her swift glance at him, a small flash of grey.

‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’

He frowned, thrown.

‘For what?’

Sigrid’s gaze dipped fractionally, and his hand followed the movement, jumping to the scar on his cheekbone. It was tiny, already fading, and he had pretty much forgotten its existence. Fíli thought the countless tiny lacerations on her face and arms, as well as the obvious broken rib, were about a hundred times worse. It was funny to him that Sigrid had picked up on the tiny cut – she was certainly no ordinary thief, though he would be the first to admit that he didn’t have much experience in that area.

‘Your cut.’

Fíli managed to supress his laugh but he couldn’t stop the grin that quirked up his mouth. She looked up, startled, and he smiled at her.

‘I think yours are just a little worse, if I may say.’

To Sigrid’s own surprise, a small smile of her own flicked across her face. The sight seemed to please Fíli; his smile grew even more and she felt an inexplicable warmth in her stomach. She’d seen Fíli before, of course, around uni as well as on the news and in the papers – he was everywhere, the star boy of the media. Yet pictures and interviews hadn’t captured the essence.

She pushed the thought away, trying to ignore Fíli’s gaze on her, and shoved her ice-cold fingers deep into her coat pocket. Now was most definitely not the time – she shouldn’t be _bonding_ with Thorin Durin’s nephew, for God’s sake. Glancing up briefly, she noted with some chagrin that Tauriel seemed to have no problem doing the same; she and Kíli Durin seemed to be having some sort of shoulder-hitting war.

Fíli was amazed how swiftly Sigrid had cut herself off. One moment she’d been giving him a smile – an actual smile, no matter how small – and then, like the flick of a switch, she was gone. Her grey eyes had tightened and her shoulders had stiffened, and now she was avoiding his gaze. A shock ran through him as his foot connected with an uneven slab of pavement and he nearly stumbled. He quickly righted himself, hoping against hope that she hadn’t noticed.

No such luck. There was a little smile, bordering on a smirk, hovering about her mouth, but at least she was looking at him again.

‘That happens all the time,’ Fíli found himself explaining. He glanced away self-consciously; the time he’d tripped and fallen on the way to a business meeting with his Uncle had, unfortunately, been immortalised by cameras. Kíli of course took every opportunity to tease him about it.

‘Really?’

Sigrid’s smile had widened against her will as she watched a faint redness spread across Fíli’s face. He was just so…awkward. Real. Down-to-earth. Almost innocent.

‘Yeah,’ he admitted, kicking at the pavement. ‘Kíli never lets it go.’

‘Mm. Tauriel’s the same about my reading positions.’

Fíli tilted his head, obviously waiting for elaboration. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d said it, anyway, but it seemed harmless enough to talk about.

‘She found me standing on my head once.’

‘Standing on your head?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How is that even possible?’

Sigrid turned her laugh into a cough, covering her mouth with her fist. Fíli was staring at her, blue eyes filled half with disbelief and half with incredulity. She watched the clouds formed by her breath float in the cool air with a smile that simply refused to leave.

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. Fíli laughed through his nose and glanced down at his feet, scuffing at the concrete again. Glancing at his obviously expensive shoes she wondered at his evident disregard for them. Maybe it was a metaphor for his completely uncaring attitude towards his own wealth. Or maybe she was reading too deeply into a simple action.

‘Was it good?’

She blinked. Fíli’s question had come out of seemingly nowhere, and her brain supplied several scenarios to which he could be referring, none of which seemed especially likely.

‘Was what good?’

‘The book,’ he explained, glancing at her. ‘That you were reading.’

‘Oh!’ Sigrid fumbled. ‘Oh, um, yes it was. I was reading _The Lock Artist_. It was very…educational.’

Fíli really couldn’t be faulted for laughing properly that time, letting out a bright and cheerful sound that seemed almost offensively loud in the muffling quiet. Sigrid smothered her grin into her scarf; his laugh really was infectious. She could feel Thorin Durin’s hard gaze burning into her from behind like a hot poker, but couldn’t really bring herself to mind overly much.

What she did mind was the oddly unreadable glance that Legolas shot her, and the _very readable_ one which Tauriel threw over her shoulder. Sigrid refrained from rolling her eyes with great difficulty.

‘Overprotective siblings?’ Fíli guessed, tracing her line of sight with his blue eyes. She didn’t miss the frown briefly marring Legolas’s face when the two’s gazes met.

‘Just a little,’ she sighed, shaking her head so that her brown curls brushed her ears. ‘I don’t know why they bother.’

The blonde raised his eyebrows, a smile twitching up his scruffy beard.

‘You can take care of yourself,’ he stated. It wasn’t a question; he’d seen her in action, after all. The image of her throwing herself out the window with barely a second’s thought wasn’t one that he was likely to forget. The crash seemed to echo through the intervening weeks.

Sigrid gifted him a tiny smile from the corner of her eyes, her mind obviously on the same event. He thought she may have already guessed his next question as well.

‘How did you do it?’ he blurted. Her gaze darted away and he knew that he was right.

‘I’d already attached a harness and line before I jumped. The original plan was to exit in a more…conventional manner, but obviously that didn’t end up being an option. It’s just lucky that my dad’s really paranoid. Murphy’s law, and all that.’

Her mouth was still curved, but it didn’t do much to quell the hot flush of regret in Fíli’s stomach. Sigrid’s rib was broken because of him, and he felt that he owed her something undefinable. He promised himself, at that moment, on a cold and windy street, that he would make it up to her.  Grey eyes were unreadable upon him, and it was like she knew. It was like she knew everything. She was old, old beyond her years, and it made Fíli seem impossibly young. Those eyes had seen too much – he could tell that already. No nineteen-year-old’s eyes should be that hard.

It only cemented his decision.

 

* * *

 

For a reason that she couldn’t quite grasp, Sigrid was almost disappointed when the Durins left them at the front of their apartment. She stood and watched the retreating back of Fíli Durin, narrowing her eyes until the world was a barcode of black and indistinct grey.

‘Sigrid? You coming?’

She blinked slowly, feeling like she was breaching some inevitable wave, before turning back to the apartment. Tauriel’s slim figure was framed in the doorway, slung impatiently against the doorframe.

‘Yeah,’ Sigrid called back. A tiny triangle of white caught her eye, peeking out from among the bushes. ‘Just a moment.’

Tauriel’s sigh was audible even from the top of the stairs as she flounced away down the corridor. Sigrid categorised her leaving before turning to the pressing matter of the triangle. Even the small corner was familiar, of course, familiar enough to warrant the tightening in her chest and the speed of her breathing.

Cold seemed to seep from the envelope to her ungloved fingers as she picked it out from its leafy cage. It was the size of a postcard, heavy, obviously crafted from expensive paper. She ripped the seal with a perhaps unwarranted level of violence. The two words stamped on the parchment instantly burned themselves into her mind as she read them.

_time’s up._

With a twist of her fingers she crushed the square of paper. The night wind burned her eyes as she stared unseeingly into the darkness.

Her time was up.

 

They were coming.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions, ideas, comments, feedback? All extremely welcome! xx


	5. Update

Hey guys. I'm sorry to tell you that this fix will be put on hiatus because I am focusing on other fics for the time being. Hopefully I will start it up again in a few months but I just thought I'd warn you. Also my beta appears to have disappeared, so there's that.

Thanks so much for supporting this fic up till here :)


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